Paradoxical Emotions
by MarinaM
Summary: Lean down. Direct contact. Lips touch. Heartbeats. Blood rushing to your head. A direct bone-breaking hit straight to the jaw ought to follow shortly. xX Nite Owl II/Rorschach Xx -M-rated for future chapters-
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello guys! I bring you my first Nite Owl II / Rorschach fanfic! Hope you enjoy it!**_

Warning: MALE x MALE relationship! I don't own Nite Owl (Daniel), Rorschach (Walter) or Watchmen!! 

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_**xX – Paradoxical Emotion - Xx**_

You feel drowsy all over, your eyelids heavy and nothing else seems significant as you march home on autopilot, hoping to hit the pillow as soon as possible. The silent darkness of streets you pass intimidates you and after a few more steps you feel sorry for your ordinary little self. _Ordinary_. You became ordinary the very minute you put away your hero armor **–** some people call it costume, but it is armor nonetheless. You don't feel like even going down there, to your basement – everything there reminds you of the days gone by. And you feel empty when you go, anyways.

The rain has no mercy as its huge drops crush your coat, over and over again. You're soaking wet, you can barely see two feet ahead of you, and you involuntarily hiss something indecipherable as you step into a goddamn puddle.

_This day isn't worth shit. _You sigh bitterly, adjusting your glasses.

The rest of the way home does not have any unpleasantness; it actually surprises you to a certain extent.

You reach the desired destination – your home – only to find your front door broken; realization of possible danger waiting for you kicks in only when you open the door with an awful creek. Anyone, any felon, from ordinary thief to merciless killer might as well be waiting for you there, but somehow you know that's not the case here.

You don't turn on the lights, feel that it's not necessary. Take off your coat and brush your soaking wet hair to the side, so that you can see a passing silhouette, at least. As you advance forward into the darkness of your own apartment you can clearly hear a splashing sound of water. To your astonishment, you were right.

You quietly open the door to the bathroom and are not surprised to find a reflection of inkblots changing its patterns in your mirror. He doesn't say a word, regardless that you **know** that he knows that you're standing behind him. All of his senses are always on maximum, always tensed, and always prepared to strike back in case of an attack. You mused back then when you two were partners and still you do not have a proper answer to the question of what happens if he ever lets his guard down.

Most probably you never will.

The second thing you notice is his lack of coat. Only moments later your brain registers the piece of dark clothing lying on the floor. He glances behind his shoulder and you just stare at him for a few seconds; you cough to break the silence while collecting your thoughts of what to say.

'Long time no see,' is all you can come up with and it seems a ridiculously stupid thing to say to your partner, whom you haven't seen for hell knows how long.

The patterns on his 'face' shift and he turns to his reflection once again.

Only now you notice a couple of bloody stains on his shirt and waistcoat and your face changes.

'Rorschach, what happened?' you ask, voicing your concern.

'Not lethal,' comes his reply.

Somehow you begin to doubt his words as you come closer to see just how big the bloodstain is. And you are right to doubt the man in front of you as he lies once again.

You could swear that you hear a pained hiss behind the mask as the wet piece of cloth he held in his hand makes contact with his injury.

'You don't want to take those off?' you ask about his upper body garments, with no ill intention in mind.

He glares you for an instance. 'No.'

'You really should; besides, let me help you. Show me your wound, why don't you?' Once again, no ill intentions.

You feel the same glare on you, but you ignore it as you reach for his waistcoat's buttons. You stop, dumbfoundedby what in blazes you are doing. Your hands gone cold, you just stand still, your fingers intact with Rorschach's bloody waistcoat, expecting a direct bone-breaking hit straight to your jaw.

But all you feel is a tensed gesture of brushing your hands away, as he comments that invading his personal space is considered a threat. You have nothing to say to this.

He takes of his garments, letting them fall to the ground around his feet. You stare. His skin is white with some amount of freckles on his shoulders and back. You stare. Uncountable amounts of old and new scars leeched away the purity of his white skin, but you still feel mesmerized. You see the new wound on his left side, blood escaping, dripping down his skin, staining his pants with crimson.

Rorschach's muscles tense as he places a wet strip of cloth to his side. Clearly, that hurt like hell.

As he bends down a bit to reach the running water in the sink to wash the blood away from his hands and the cloth, you catch yourself thinking about how well-built he is, and how distracting his ass looks in those pants without his usual coat covering them. Somehow you wonder, will sinking your teeth into that neck will count as an injury or not? You wonder about many things, but _somehow_ they all come down to your ex-partner.

In one instant, you feel sick; sick all over from the thoughts that invade your head. You massage your temples, trying your best to keep your cool and block away foolish ideas. You sigh. He stays quiet. You sigh again.

You take another look at his ever-changing 'face' reflected in the mirror and your mind goes blank as your legs move on their own. You're fast and the element of surprise does its miracle to Rorschach as he does not see it coming. In one swift motion you get rid of his mask, revealing a shock-stricken, freckled face, blue eyes open wide with shock, surprise and, perhaps, panic.

You are taller, so without hesitation, while your brain is still malfunctioning, you lean down. Direct contact. Lips touch. Heartbeats. Blood rushing to your head. Hands are no longer part of your body, as they wander on their own, grabbing a fist-full of ginger hair.

You lay on the titles of your bathroom, your jaw probably broken. You hear his voice; he's saying something, but you can't make it out since your head is ringing like church bell.

You lift your body from the cold floor; you seemed to have blacked out. His clothes are no longer lying scattered across the room. Rorschach is nowhere in sight.

The sudden pain comes back to you as you try to open your mouth. Seeing a doctor tomorrow is a must, you note to yourself bitterly.

Regardless the pain, you are filled with a paradoxical emotions burning in your chest. You smile to no one in particular. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Smile again, knowing that…

_No pain in the world will make you regret what you did tonight. _

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_Reviews make this author-girl VERY happy! Next chapter will be on soon~ _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: SORRY GUYS! I know it took FOREVER! But hey, let us look on the bright side - I finally updated this thing XD **

**To dear reviewers: YOUR PRAISE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME :3 I sure hope you'll like this chapter just as much as the first one. **

**Disclaimer: Watchmen, Rorschach, Nite Owl belong to Alan Moore. Not me. Sadly. DD:**

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**xX – Paradoxical Emotions – Xx**

**Part II **

You see a puzzled expression. The man in white is waiting for you to start explaining what happened. You don't feel like answering any questions that might come your way, simply because you can barely speak. Maybe you should've gone to see a doctor earlier, instead of suffering for a whole night without getting any sleep. You look like a punching bag that had its insides ripped out.

You are surprised to hear that it's not all that serious; you lost a tooth or two, but your jaw is still in one piece. The doctor gives you advice on staying out of trouble and being careful and probably something else – you aren't sure what; your ears were playing deaf for that time.

That night you can't sleep. The ticking of the clock almost drives you insane, but you don't move. _Tick tack_. Eyes glued to the front door, you are waiting – _tick tack_ – for a miracle – _tick_.

Your heart almost escapes the boundaries of your chest as the knock on your front door echoes throughout the whole apartment. You rush to the door only to find a woman who's lost and needs directions.

You tap your fingers on the wooden table in your kitchen; like a lunatic you stare off into the empty space in front of you.

It's three in the morning and your body needs rest – you refuse. You wait for something that you are not sure of yourself. Even if he does come back, deep down inside you know you have nothing to say to him at this point. Like a little child that doesn't want to miss a thing, you ignore common sense; your hand turns the door handle that leads to the basement.

'Stop following.' You stop dead in your tracks, feeling a chill running down your spine. You were quiet, but not quiet enough.

He stands few feet ahead of you, his hands in pockets. He looks like a shadow, menacing and bringing horror to the pitch-black alleyways, bringing his justice to the scum that await their prey here every night. No one will give a damn if another hopeless woman is found dead here, in this godforsaken place, her lifeless body lying on the filthy concrete. People wouldn't give a damn; it probably would not reach the media. There is no such thing as 'forgiveness' or 'mercy' around here; so let his judgment prevail.

You take a step forward, hoping and praying for his justice not to come down on you. He remains motionless. Another risk - another step. Breathe. The silence between you and him crushes you under its weight. Your brain yells at you to get the hell out of there, that you will only make things worse.

_Can it possibly get any worse?_ you ask yourself. You need reassurance; you need courage for one last step, which will close the gap between you two. You take a risk.

Now you stand right behind him, lost for what to say. No ideas at all.

Your common sense makes its comeback to enlighten you – apologise. 'Apologise for what?' your mind instantly barks back; you do not regret a single thing you did last night. 'It was wrong', common sense hisses, hopelessly trying to bring out your conscience as the ultimate judge. 'But it felt good,' your mind fires back, ignoring everything else that might come its way.

'Rorschach-'

The deafening roar of thunder shuts you up, and you are again at a loss for what to say. Heaven itself forbids you to talk. Rain comes down and washes away everything you had in mind.

Awkwardly, you place a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs, making it painfully obvious that any physical contact coming from you is sickening; regardless, he remains silent. And it confuses you - he could've just broken your arm, but he didn't.

'No.' He says it loud and clear, making sure that you'll hear it; adjusting his scarf he walks further into the alleyway, its darkness welcoming him.

You blink a dozen times, not knowing what he means by this 'no', but you never knew that you were so stubborn and don't take 'no' as an answer.

You catch up with him, your footsteps echoing in synchronization with his. The only thing you see in menacing dark is Rorschach's ever shifting inkblot mask. He has no intention to stop – you know that - so all rational thought be damned. You step in front of him, blocking his path.

He lifts his face to glare at you; inkblots stop their dance.

'Just listen to me.' You know that he won't, and you try nevertheless. 'I know it was a stupid thing to do and I can imagine how you feel-'

'You can't,' he barks back, trying to resume his way. 'Move.'

And you can predict what is going to happen if you stay where you are. And you know goddamn well that this time you'll have to stay in hospital for a few days if you continue this nonsense. You sigh, moving to the left; he takes a few steps forward. You act fast as you grab him by the collar of his coat and, as if you've done this million times before push him against the wall, his face making direct contact with concrete, holding his right arm firmly behind his back you press your body to his. You feel every muscle in his body tense beneath you. You can picture the shock and anger creating a mind-blowing mix of emotions on his face. The idea of taking control. It turns you on.

You want to see. You want to see his face. You need contact. You need to feel. You'll be a complete fool to do this, fool double-time if you don't.

**-To be Continued**

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**This chapter is even shorter than the first one, for that I'm very SORRY DDD: I know how you feel... You've been waiting for a freaking ETERNITY and in the end you have this aprox. 1000 words long chapter!? WTF! D: **

**I'll do better next time, I promise! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I DID IIIIIIIIT! xD I've actually updated this thing! -does a happy dance- **

**Before you read this chapter I have to say that it MAY seem completely OOC, but believe me - there is a reason behind this. The scenario for this 'reason' is still in progress, but I DO have some ideas. One is "OMG!ANGST of doom ending" and the other one will turn out into "a rather happy ending". Yup, still thinking which one to write. So, as you may have figured it out, there will be 2 more chapters, no more (since I promised that there will be some smut ;D and it WILL take one chapter and the other will be the 'reason' one.) **

**That is all! Sorry for talking so much, please ENJOY! **

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**xX – Paradoxical Emotions – Xx**

**Part III **

You had seen it coming and didn't expect anything else. You wonder just how stupid you could possibly be. You were the one who pressed your partner against the cold, dirty wall in this godforsaken alley. You were the one who felt the adrenaline rush through your blood system as you pressed closer to the smaller frame, your free hand wandering all across his body. You didn't even stop to think about why Rorschach hasn't beaten you you into a bloody pulp by now; he remains tensed, and motionless like a stone.

When you finally feel that nothing can stop you – not even yourself - you do the most idiotic and crazy thing. His fedora falls on the ground. You do not waver even for a second, as you rip off his mask, realizing later that you just announced your own death sentence.

You yelp, not sure if it is out of pain or surprise, as he steps on your foot, his elbow making a direct, extremely painful contact with your ribs. Stumble, your legs betraying you; your brain registers sharp pain from a gloved hand straight to your goddamn jaw. This time it is broken for sure. A quickly-vanishing thought of what you've done, instantly erased from your mind as another punch follows shortly.

You get up, finding support in the nearby wall, his inkblot mask still in your hand. You are prepared for the worst-case scenario as you stare at Rorschach's second face, the one that he has been hiding for so long, as if it was his secret identity but not Rorschach.

His eyes are cold as steel as he stares at you, lips in a thin line. You feel the chill run down your spine; you still can't read the expression on his face.

_Maybe it wasn't such a __bright idea in the first place…_ you note to yourself, fingers digging deeper into the black and white latex you still have possession of.

You feel that you should start explaining yourself, but on the other side, is there actually a point in trying to convince Rorschach that you are still his friend and this was nothing to worry about? Like, 'Hey Rorschach, old buddy, old pal! Oh, what? Oh, don't mind me while I push you against the wall and try to violate you. It's okay. We're still friends, right?'

This is not something you can laugh off like a crappy joke or get away with by simply saying, 'I'm sorry'. You've broken the unspoken rule between you. Twice. Moreover, you are aware that if you will stay quiet as a fish, he will be the one to act first. And that will be bloody, like hell.

'Rorschach, listen-' You begin your speech, wavering and doubting how you should confess. 'I know that my words will all sound like lame excuses and there's probably no way I can justify my actions, but-'

'Do you know who are you talking to, Daniel?' He finally speaks, his voice calm, but you can hear and see that he puts much effort into it.

'What…?' You are not sure if you heard him right. 'What do you mean?'

His gloved hand points at the latex you hold. You frown in confusion, lost to the track of the conversation.

'This mask?' You speak, not sure of what exactly you are asking.

'You're talking to a faceless man.'

At this point, you are not sure if you have anything to say to this, but you try nonetheless. 'I know exactly who I'm talking to-'

'And who's that?' You are instantly interrupted.

_Rorsch__ach – who IS he, really? What is this red-haired, blue-eyed man's true name? _You are dumbfounded by the realization that you know absolutely _nothing_ about the man in front of you, about the man who you almost violated in this stinking alley, who was your partner, your friend and your…

'Tell me, Daniel. Who do you see?' His voice tingles with what sounds almost like impatience. He wants to hear you answer this complicated and tricky-in-all-ways question.

And you feel paralyzed. Numb. You want to say something but all the words are stuck in your throat in a hideous knot. Panic slowly builds up and infects your system. This particular panic that makes you sick all over, sick and angry with yourself for not being able to open your mouth and say what is important.

You feel like a coward. Moments ago, there was absolutely nothing that could've stopped you from carrying out your plan, but now you stare helplessly at the man in front of you and feel like a child again, that was caught doing something wrong.

Seconds seem like hours, before you finally say, 'I see a friend.'

You feel cold-steel eyes glaring at you, drilling a hole in your scull, it seems. 'A friend?'

Oh, the irony. You know that he knows that you are lying. Besides, what kind of friend would actually do what you did..?

'Daniel.' Rorschach's voice is grave and demanding – demanding truth – from a man he once considered his partner, from a man with whom he spent thousands nights risking their lives for greater good. For justice.

For the sake of those moments you shared as vigilantes, you feel obliged to tell him the truth, but the guilt devours you, guilt for not being there to patrol the streets with him, when the Keene Act was announced, guilt for leaving everything behind and forgetting who you really are and – most of all – guilt for showing just how much you care for him in such an animalistic, immoral way.

Telling the truth sometimes hurts more than hearing it.

**-To be Continued**

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**DDD: Short chapter is short! Sorrryyyyyyy! TT_TT **


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